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12/07/2012

Donovan's patience is wearing thin, but Mischa needs time to make things right.

Mischa Blake needs the relaxation of the Blake brothers' weekly poker games now more than ever as he feels the pressure of his responsibilities as a parent, partner, and student multiplying. When one of his siblings proposes reviving their game of Truth or Dare, Mischa revolts. Instead, they all agree to share a truth, and Mischa has to decide how much of his domestic situation to share with his family.

The frantic pace of life is overwhelming, and Mischa has begun to let things slide. With the holidays just around the corner, he figures his current situation is a temporary thing. When he misses one of his son's soccer game that Donovan left work early to attend, time runs out.

Upset by the hurt in their son's eyes, Donovan decides that something must be done. He's worried that he's pushed Mischa into doing things at the wrong time, pushed his dreams on his young lover, just pushed too hard for too much in general.

In a desperate attempt to get Mischa to think about what he wants instead of what Donovan wants, Donovan issues an ultimatum. He sends Mischa away with orders to think about his priorities.

How long he sat there he didn’t know. The sounds of partying sometimes reached him—laughter and the odd splash—but down here on the beach he had time to think. His watch was in his room and he didn’t have the energy to wrestle his cell from his back pocket. Completely cut off from the passage of time, he could really lose himself in the peace of the ocean.

“Do you mind company?”

Lucas looked up and blinked at the bar-guy-slash-captain, Dylan, who was standing way tall and looking down at him with a smile.

“It’s a free beach,” Lucas said. He pushed down the instinctive thrill of pleasure that tall, dark, and sexy-rough wanted to sit next to him. Then just as quickly, he wondered why Dylan was here at all. “Aren’t you working?”

“Everyone’s in bed, it’s nearly midnight.”

“It is?” Lucas shook his head. Hours had passed as he watched the waves reach shore and then recede into the darkness.

“I bought you down another Apple Mojito,” Dylan said. Passing the drink down and carefully balancing his own bottled beer, Dylan made himself comfortable at Lucas’s side. “You look like a man who needs a drink.”

“And how is that?”

“All starry-eyed into the distance.” Dylan shook his free hand in a loose approximation of pointing out there into the dark. “Clearly, you have big thoughts.”

“It’s a big day tomorrow. I’m giving away my only family.”

“To be fair, Liam seems like a nice guy.”

Lucas cast a look sideways at Dylan. He was a staff member. Should he really be down here making personal comments to guests?

“He is. A very nice man,” Lucas finally answered.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Uh huh?”

“You’re gay, right? I overheard it on the boat.”

Lucas turned to look at Dylan, but his companion’s gaze was fixed firmly out to sea as he asked the question.

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate—” he started, but then stopped abruptly. Who was he kidding? When Dylan turned to face him with that open expression and a faint smile on his lips, Lucas could only really say one thing. After all, Dylan had heard what Kate had said, and had probably noticed him staring at his ass when he was organizing bottles in the fridge. “Yes.”

“Don’t you want to know why I asked you?” Dylan’s voice was soft and invited confidence.

“Tell me,” Lucas said.

“I kind of wanted to ruffle your feathers a bit. Are you out?”

“To family—what there is of it—and to friends.”

“Oh.” Dylan’s voice held a note of puzzlement. “You were so distracted, first on the boat with that redhead, and then at the bar. Thought maybe you were still in the closet and it was a battle with not wanting people to know.”

Lucas huffed a laugh at Dylan’s comment. If only his problems were something that well defined. He didn’t care who knew he was gay. He was happy in his own skin, and so far prejudice and hate hadn’t really touched him. Even Oscar, his boss, knew, and although he had commented on the fact, it didn’t seem to make Lucas a lesser manager in his eyes.

“I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Your sister?”

“Tasha? No, she’s golden. She’s with a man who loves her and who will treat her right. Liam is one of the good guys.”

Dylan frowned and took a swallow of his beer. “So, you’re happy in your own skin and your close family has a good life. Why do you look so sad?”

“Is this a bartender thing? Where you ask random shit like that and I sit and tell you all my problems?” Lucas laughed. “Sad? I don’t feel sad,” he lied through his teeth. His nerves were too raw to talk about Alan or about the decisions he faced about his future. Neither subject was what he wanted to talk about to the first available person who trapped him in a dark space and beguiled him with soft emotional questions.

Skylar Deering has suffered from schizophrenia since high school. Despite feeling safe with boyfriend Ben Radclyffe, Skylar slides deeper into his private hell. When Skylar enters a special clinic, he wonders: will Ben stick by Skylar's side as promised?

Long:

Ben Radclyffe was a tea house owner who saw a young man wearing colorful scarves entered for a cup of tea and pastry. He saw him count his money with care, but sat in a corner to stare in the distance or spoke to someone who wasn't there.

Skylar Deering has suffered from schizophrenia since late high school. Even with Ben, who saw him beyond the hallucinations, delusions, and voices, he continued to slid deeper into his private hell. When he found himself in a special clinic, Skylar dug deep to climb back to recovery. Skylar can only wonder: Will Ben, the one man who didn't turn away from him, be there, sticking as he promises, when he comes out?

Excerpt: (Over 18)

While he sang to the Josh Groban song playing over speakers of his artsy teahouse, Bennett Radclyffe swung his hips around the various tables and chairs in time with the floor sweeper. He spun the green handle out, did a little shimmy of his tight ass, and danced back to the flat sweeper. He crooned to the top of the handle, but stopped when he got the prickly feeling between his shoulders of someone watching him. He turned his head and noticed a group of guys in fashionable club clothes standing outside on the sidewalk.

Only one turned to watch him through the large front window. Ben checked out the gorgeous, lanky young man whose chestnut hair with bright gold highlights swept down across his eyes. Dressed in club clothes which emphasized the thin frame, Ben found his attention moved to the black, silver, and blue patterned sparkly scarf wrapped around the long, swanlike neck. A colorful man purse was slung across his shoulder and rested on his hip. He only knew one male who wore a scarf and purse. Well, he didn't actually know him. This was the same young man who often came to his teahouse. Every time he managed to catch a glimpse of this man while he worked, one he figured to be a little younger than his thirty-two years, Ben's cock became interested. The highlighted hair, the dark eyeliner, and tight club clothes enticed him like nothing else. Even those different scarves he saw wrapped around the young man's neck. He wanted to grab hold of the scarf to tug the man in close for a long, hard kiss.

Though they'd never exchanged names, Ben recognized the young man from the multiple times he'd passed outside the teahouse or came inside. The young man often counted out his money from a colorful change purse, sat in the corner, and carried on conversations with himself. Even with this quirk, Ben found himself watching the stranger, entranced by his beauty. With a sheepish grin, Ben admired the painted-on black jeans which skimmed low across skinny hips and a gorgeous ass. He waved at the man, who didn't respond but looked away and danced on his toes to some unknown tune. A restless hand moved through his hair before he rubbed his knuckles together.

"Damn. Another opportunity lost," Ben muttered as he stared at the group of men around the young twink. "Who are you hanging out with, gorgeous? They don't look like your type."

Then with a sickening hit to his stomach, he witnessed one of the men grab hold of the dancing man's hand and shoved him back against the wall. With the same sexual aggression, the bigger male cupped the younger one's dick and captured his lips in a hard kiss.

"What the hell…" Ben muttered as he moved between the tables.

Through the glass, he heard the cheers and rowdy comments as the others urged the bigger man on. The unknown aggressor pulled back from the kiss, tugged away the beautiful scarf, and moved down the slender neck to bite at pale skin. The younger man looked away with no expression upon his face, his gaze focused on something else. Ben noticed his full, reddened lips formed words. A slender hand moved as if to swat something away. Ben shoved a chair out of the way and pressed against the window. He needed to hear what was going on and, if necessary, bang on the window to stop the attack. If it got worse, he knew damn well he would run out of the teahouse and head to the rescue.

"Go away. Fray, damn you! Go away…" The young man made a fist and banged it against his temple. "No… Don't want you around. Go!"

Ben barely heard the words from the young man. When he studied the area outside around them, he wondered if one of the men was this Fray, but none of them seemed to respond to the name.

"Go? I thought you wanted this, little whore. You dragged me and my boys out of the club for this. We gave you the money," the man said with a sneer.

Ben pulled in a sharp breath.

The young man beat his fist against his temple.

"He's bat-shit crazy, Jerry. I told you we shoulda dumped his ass in the alley," one of the others said.

"Are you scamming me, little whore?" the bigger man called Jerry demanded, grabbing the fragile man's chin between his thick thumb and forefinger in a grip hard enough to bruise the pale skin.

Ben banged on the glass multiple times and shouted, "Get the hell away from him!"

"Fuck off! None of your business," Jerry shouted back. He wrapped his hand around the twink's upper arm and dragged him off the wall.

"No!" Ben yelled, then he tossed aside the broom and raced to the front door. He fumbled with the locks, but managed to open them and the door. When he reached the sidewalk, he hastened after them. He caught up as they were about to turn into a nasty alley. The young man seemed to be talking more to himself than to the others. His hands fidgeted in Jerry's tight grip.

"I said let him go!"

"What the hell! Who are you?" one of the tagalongs asked.

"I'm someone who happens to give a shit about others. Let him go. Turn him over to me and I may let you walk out of this alley with your pride intact."

Thanks to years of martial arts taken to rebuild the muscles and strength after childhood illness and surgeries, Ben could now use his honed skills to save someone. With an ease he hadn't realized he possessed, he had most of the men doubled over and useless in a few swift moves.

"You fucker!" Jerry shouted as he threw the young man to the ground in order to face Ben.

Ben almost cried out when he saw the young man's head hit a rock and his body crumple. The scarf fluttered a few feet away from him and landed in a dirty puddle. "I swear you will pay for this cruelty."

"He's a damn crazy whore high on something. Why should you care about some addict on the streets? Did he let you use his ass? Is he your little toy to use when he isn't trolling the clubs? I bet it was a tight, sweet, and hot ride. I want to tear it up. Perhaps I still will after dealing with you. Maybe I'll let you watch me take the whore before I knock you out for good," Jerry sneered.

Not wanting to hear another word from the bastard, Ben spun and lashed out with a ferocious kick to the man's face. It was satisfying to hear a nasty crunch of bone and see a spurt of blood. Though he'd never drawn another man's blood in anger before, he held onto his composure to finish. He ended the confrontation with another hard kick and punch until the man's eyes rolled up and he crumpled to the ground in an unconscious pile, finally spitting on the man's face. "What a fucking worthless piece of shit."

A soft groan echoed against the brick walls. The pitiful sound didn't come from one of the men whose ass Ben kicked. It yanked Ben's attention out of the red-hot blast of anger and back to the reason why he was in the alley. Faster than his back enjoyed, he pivoted and hurried over to crouch next to the thin frame crumpled in the disgusting alley. Even with the crouch and movement, he kept his back straighter than most due to all the years spent in braces and his surgeries. He wove an arm under the slender shoulders and helped the young man to a sitting position, leaning against him.

"No. Please don't hurt…"

"Ssh, you're safe. I promise you're safe, sweet one. I'm not one of them," Ben soothed while he drew his fingers through the brightly highlighted hair in the front, moving it away from the slender face.

Long, thick lashes lifted from pale, high cheekbones to reveal a slightly dazed, ice blue gaze. The pale irises were rimmed with sapphire. The long lashes lowered to cover the bright color before they opened to dazzle Ben once more.

Merry Christmas to Dianne Hartsock who gifted me with the following prompt:

Person: firefighter; Place: Santa's Workshop; Thing: sugar cookies

By Design

Conclusion

copyright Nov. 2012 by Lee Brazil

***

He stood outside the door of a dingy little
apartment in a building identical to his own, balancing the cheery wrapped
plate of cookies on one palm, while banging fruitlessly on the door with the
other. The sound seemed to echo in the interior, but no answer came. His brows
drew tight together; he shifted the plate to his other hand and pressed his
palm flat to the door. No heat seeped through.

There was no keyhole to peer through, no peephole to
try to spy through.

"Hello?" He called. Somewhere in the distance
a thready, weak strand of music drifted in the air. Something sad, and not
quite seasonal, not quite distinguishable.

A roaring in his ears soon blocked that sound as
well, and all he heard was the rapid trip-thump of his own heart as he stood
before that silent, dingy door, waiting for admittance.

In an effort to achieve calm, he drew in a deep
breath, and that's when he caught the scent of something evil. Not smoke, no.
Smoke was thick and menacing, it reached out and choked you, burned your eyes
and will away in visible swirls. If smoke and fire were on the other side of
that door, he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing for whoever Aiden had sent
him to save.

This was something worse. Something sneaky and
perverse, a killer that stole breath without pain, took life without care.

But it was an evil he could fight, a demon he could
face more easily than smoke and flame. Foolish as it may seem, he set the
cookie plate carefully near the wall, and spun out in a wide angled kick,
splintering the door just above the lock.

The foul gas rushed out over him, and he yanked his red
thermal long sleeved t-shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, stepping into the
bleak apartment. A thin figure lay on a battered mattress in the corner, narrow
chest rising slowly under a shabby quilt.

"Hey!" Kyle called. He turned left into
the kitchen, where just like in his own unit, a single window let in meager
sunlight in the day and reflected desolation back at him in the darkness. He shoved that window up as far as it could go
then, when it refused to stay put, shattered it with a cast iron skillet that
sat on the stove top. His second priority was twisting the dial to shut off the
flow of sodium scented gas that drenched the air with noxious rotten egg fumes.

The idiot was either trying to kill himself or ...

Let's just
go with idiot, Aiden's voice whispered in his ear.

"Hey!" Kyle called again, grabbing a worn blue
terry cloth dish towel from the scarred counter top. Kyle ignored the fact that
it had a smear of tomato sauce on one end and doused it with cool water from
the tarnished tap. Wringing the towel out as he walked to the mattress, Kyle
ignored the puddles he left on the utilitarian grey carpet.

At the man's side, Kyle wrapped the cloth about the
stranger's mouth and nose and hefted the man in his arms, shabby quilt and all.
There was no balcony so, he'd have to take him out in the hall until the air
cleared.

And that's where he was, an hour later. Sitting in
the dim hall, leaning against the wall, a stranger's ginger head in his lap,
sifting his fingers through fine silky straight hair, a plate of sugar cookies
on his left. Bemused.

Frosty lashes
lifted from pale freckled cheeks, and Kyle found himself staring down into pale
blue eyes. "Hello," he said.

12/02/2012

*Looks around Lee's place* I haven't been here in a while...I
like what you've done with the place. 

I really do appreciate you having me over to chat about A
Christmas Carol, my release coming out tomorrow.
I can hardly believe that. It seems like such a whirlwind to get it done and
have my writing blend in with Dickens's style. But then, Lee, you know that.
You've listened to me every step of the way! LOL

*waves at our visitors* How is everyone doing today? Curious
about my newest release? Let me tell you, I was so excited to get a chance to
fill in dear ol' Ebenezer Scrooge's love life! I mean, people aren't mean like
that just for the sake of being foul, right? So I was thrilled to dive into his
reasons for being like that, and to give him a happily ever after.

I've redeemed Marley (no soul left behind...lol), and given
Scrooge his mate in Alex. I've given you a deeper taste of Scrooge's remorse
and a closer look at his attempt to be "normal" in a day and age when
being homosexual shunned a man at the least and imprisoned him at its worst.

Are you ready for a small excerpt of A Christmas Carol? Make
sure no one is looking over your shoulder... *wink*

Here is an exclusive excerpt just for you:

“Settle, boy. This is not to show who is in control. This is
to show how we should have been. What my dreams held. What our life together
should have held.”

He was unsure of what that meant, and that did not sit well
at all with Scrooge. Soft caresses were well and good, but a hard fucking had
better follow quickly. Marley chuckled behind him. A sharp sting of a slap lit
Scrooge’s hip with fire. “I can hear your thoughts so clearly, like my own, Eb.
You’ll not be left wanting. Not this time.”

Another slap to Ebenezer’s thigh narrowed his attention to
his lover, a long-dormant need flaring to life with each blow to his skin, with
each whispered vow of love eternal, with each promise of care.

“Your arse always presented well, Eb. Blushing and hot,
needy.”

Scrooge clenched his fists in the linens, holding back the
moan crawling up his throat. Silence was the rule. Servants, even the best of
the lot, could not be trusted with the secrets of the bedchamber. Not that
Scrooge employed any other than one cook and one maid, neither of whom would be
working that day.

“Oil?”

“In the drawer.” Scrooge’s voice was not his own, surely. He
had never heard it sound so hoarse.

The scrape of wood was harsh to Scrooge’s ears, then cold oil
slid down the crack of his arse, followed by impatient fingers working around,
in, around, until Ebenezer’s hole eased for the touch. “Are you ready, Eb?”

Another turn of events, this question, but Marley had
promised care, and care he was giving, driving Scrooge out of his mind with the
impossibility of it. Fingers disappeared, replaced promptly with the spongy tip
of Marley’s cock, pushing slowly into Scrooge’s arse. So full, near bursting
with the fullness of it, Scrooge moaned and sank back on his haunches, lodging
the thick erection deeper inside him. His skin burned where Marley’s fingers
dug into his hips, holding him steady as he began to thrust, sweat rapidly
slicking his body.

The slap of Marley’s thighs against Scrooge’s arse rang loud
through the bedchamber, their laboured breathing combining to create a harmony
that fuelled Scrooge’s lust. He struggled under Marley’s hold, revelling in the
tightening of his grip, the feel of bruises rising.

Marley’s hips snapped faster, pummelling Scrooge with fierce
thrusts, then, as Scrooge cried out with his release, fearless of who might
hear, Marley pulled him roughly onto his cock, pulses of seed filling Scrooge’s
passage. Marley collapsed atop Scrooge, then eased from inside before rolling
to lay on the mattress beside him.

Scrooge remained with his hands clenched in the bed sheets,
drawing deep breath after deep breath, trying to regain his composure as his
body floated on soft wings back to reality. “Do we have the night?”

“Only a few moments more.” Marley braced one hand under his
head, looking at Scrooge. “I loved you, Eb.”

Blurb:

Love at first sight is a
beautiful thing, but sometimes, true love waits a lifetime to shine...and then
needs a little help from the Three Ghosts of Christmas.

As a young man, Ebenezer
Scrooge felt the sharp pain of loss and resolved to protect his heart from all
others, taking solace in his gold and silver. Years of discarding his own
emotions, and those of anyone around him, has turned Scrooge cold.

When deceased lover and
partner Jacob Marley pays miserly Scrooge a late night visit, pride and
disbelief buoy Scrooge's courage. As the fabled Ghosts of Christmas Past,
Present, and Yet-to-Come arrive to show Scrooge the error of his ways, they
also give him brief glimpses of a love so strong it has stood the test of time.

Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955